


Haunted.

by jessng



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Sad Ending, Symbolism, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, jack is less of an asshole, jager, maurice is a straight guy on an island full of gay ass boys, roger is an amnesiac, rogermon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessng/pseuds/jessng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Simon was dead, the ship and the officers never arrived, Ralph was beheaded, Roger was an amnesiac, Maurice was a straight friend, and Jack was less of an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reminiscence

Roger sat on the beach, his hand holding a stick, drawing straight lines on the ground, then destroyed them, and drew them again. His feet were crossed, one of his arms limply lied on his thighs. His face paint was fading, but he did not care. He just kept repeating the pattern of drawing and destroying. His dark hair flew free in the wind, while his black eyes only cared about what was being drawn on the ground. The dark circles under his eyes were getting more intense in color as sleepless nights increased.

It was not really what someone would call a sunny day. There was little sunlight coming through the thick gray clouds. The humid and cool wind brushed against his bare back, but he was so used to it that he did not feel the chills people would normally feel running down his spine. This weather actually brought Roger a quite pleasant feeling. The sky darkened a little more, and the wind was stronger. Roger brought his knees against his chest, buried his head between the knees, and kept going. He sighed, his face felt hot for a reason he had long forgotten. Time was no longer a concept to Roger, and he let himself fall in the continuous loop of drawing and destroying. He was not there anymore.

In front of his eyes was a fire, with a pig carcass on top of it, half burnt, half raw, for the boys cooking them were too weak to turn it over. He saw himself circled by boys from his choir, the little boys, and his chief. They were stabbing the sand just a few milimeters from him with the butts of their sticks. His hair stuck to his face, along with the humid sand. His face paint was fading, for the hunt had taken place a fairly long time ago. The boys encircling him suddenly switched the target to Robert, as the chief ordered. He quickly stood up, took his spear and joined them. The fun continued until an obscure figure walked out of the jungle. The boys, except for him, assuming the figure was the beast, came for that figure, the spears' pointy ends against it. They stabbed, bit, tore, as the figure screamed for mercy. Roger stood there, silence overwhelming him. He tried to move in to the circle to save the figure, but his body denied to move.

Roger's lips shivered, and moved lightly to say a name.

"S.."

The raindrop awakened Roger. He felt another cold drop falling on his hair, then his back, then the back of his palm. He did not care, and kept on drawing on the sand, now wet with water from the rain. Roger dropped the stick, then wrapped his arms around his knees, buried his head deeper within the knees, and closed his eyes. The rain quickly became heavier, but he still sat there by himself, with his drawing fading, and the small stick being washed away by the waves hitting the beach. He felt like the drops of water falling from the sky were whipping his back hard, and he let them do it. All of the sudden, he remembered the reason why his face felt hot, but he could only murmur the name to himself.

* * *

Roger woke up feeling himself being carried on someone's back. He inhaled the sandy scent before opening his eyes, only to see the strands of red hair flying free, almost in his eyes. He glanced down to see a sunburnt neck, and a little glimpse of the freckled back. Roger opened his mouth, but his throat felt like burning, and he could not say anything, so he closed it. That was when he realized his throat was not the only part of him that was burning, his whole body was. Roger turned his head right, the sight of a moving figure with a deep tan and broad shoulders told him that it was Maurice. He noticed that his hair was sticking into his forehead, and his throat, besides from burning, was being tickled by an irritating sensation. He tried to hold it in, but it became even more unbearable.

"Just cough all you like Roger," said the chief, his voice sounded a bit annoyed, "coughing while being carried on the chief's back is a privilege. Enjoy while it lasts."

Roger, finally getting agreement from his chief, started coughing. His face grew red and hot as he forced the air out, even though he also felt like he was bawling his throat out.

"You're one big heap of trouble, Roger." Jack continued, "who in the world stays in the rain then passes out and almost gets washed away anyway." There was still that bit of annoyance in his voice, though it was much softer than before.

"He cares about you Rodge," said Maurice jokingly, "congrats, you have won the chief's heart."

"And you shut up," the chief scowled, his face invaded by a bit of embarassment, "if it's not for carrying Roger I would've slugged you by now."

They arrived at Castle Rock shortly after that. Roger was still coughing hard when Jack put him down to the ground, his back against the rocky wall of the cave. Roger was half-asleep again, and he heard Jack's voice ordering the littluns to do something, but he could not figure out what his chief was saying. His eyelids were almost all the way closed, he stopped coughing, and his breathing regulated. His black hair was still sticking to his forehead, but he took no notice. Roger fell asleep with his body still feeling like it was on fire.


	2. Reverberation

"We ought to rethink the guarding schedule."

Roger overheard this as he slowly opened his eyes. Even though he was still feeling the drowsiness, he did not need more sleep.

"And Roger's off from hunting for a few days," the chief continued, there was a familiar noise of the knife chipping wood off from the spear.

"But you've never done this before, you never let them take days off no matter the condition," the other voice was probably Maurice's.

"This is the first time someone's ever been like this," argued the chief, though his voice remained soft.

"No, remember last week? When Robert said he wasn't feeling fine you didn't let him rest. Seems to me that you're favoring Roger," Maurice was tapping his spear slightly on the ground. "Not that I have any problem with that, Roger is a good hunter, but is there more to it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean.. is there something else behind you treating Roger differently from the rest of us, like besides him being a good hunter? Just a hunch, don't bother."

Roger put his palms against the ground, pushing to try to sit up. He coughed slightly, then noticed that there were some wet moss on his forehead that had already been heated up by his body temperature. A cracking sound came from his bones for lying in one position for a long time. The sound startled the other two, and they looked to his direction. Roger looked at them, too. His face was red, but it was unknown if the cause was his body temperature, or he was blushing. Maurice stood up and walked away, allowing the chief and his sick lieutenant time alone.

Jack stood up, too, but he walked over to Roger, then kneeled down to his lieutenant's eye level. He peeled the moss from Roger's forehead, for there were no better ways to get it off. Then, he pressed his forehead against Roger's to feel it.

"A little sleep did you well," said the chief before wetting the moss and putting it on Roger's head again. "You still need some more rest though, take a few days off if you want to."

Roger nodded slightly, for he felt his throat was still burning. He coughed some more.

"I'm sending Bill or Robert to go out and fetch our old clothes at the other side tomorrow, they'll be better at this than these moss." Jack flashed a quick smile before laying his hand on Roger's shoulder, and stared at the ground. Everything stood still for a moment, only the faint cry of the cicadas and the song the waves sung when they rushed to the shore were heard. Roger stared at Jack, his gaze locked into the chief's face. Suddenly realizing how weird it was, Jack let go of Roger's shoulder, stood up, and slightly pet the boy's black hair. "Well, get better soon. Others might get jealous, ya know, of the privileges and stuff. I mean, they're little kids anyway."

The chief left, and Roger alone with himself. The dark-haired boy picked up a small stick lying around in front of him, and began, again, his cycle of endless drawing and destroying. Only this time, he drew a curve that much resembled the letter _S_ , followed by a straight, smaller line that looked like an _I_ , then, the curve and the line were drawn over by random lines, and the cycle started again. Roger did not seem like he was bored with this continuous process, though he was thinking of something else while absentmindedly drawing the curves and lines. The waves kept hitting the shore from afar, slowly bringing whatever was on there away with them.

Roger felt his eyes getting hotter, but he did not know why. Maybe he had forgotten the reason, maybe he just did not know. Whatever it was, he had never felt that way before in his life. Or probably once, when he stood silently next to the fire of madness, hearing the waves hitting the shore, bringing something away with them. That something lied limply, blood soaking in the wet sand and blending in with the sea water, and on the figure's brown hair that had stuck heavily to its face was a small blue flower, and Roger's heart felt like it had stopped when he saw deep red smeared on that indigo-like color.

All he could remember was that, and an _S._

 _A_ nd an _I_.

* * *

Having gained permission from the chief, Roger trotted along the beach, feeling relieved from having to carry a sharpened stick everywhere. He kind of wanted to carry it, to destroy random obstacles on his way, but then he remembered someone telling him that destroying things was bad, not the people in the world before the island, but someone on this island. Roger had once again realized that he had forgotten the person's name, or who that person even was. The only clue he had was the strange vividness of the blue flower on the person's tangled hair, and an _S,_ and an _I._

And an _M._

Roger felt the humid wind tickling his skin, his black hair, again, flew free. He looked down to his walking feet, watching the toes digging into the sand, then lifted, then dug, then lifted again. His skin, oddly, did not get any darker than how it was before the island. That, plus the fact that he had the darkest hair and pure black eyes had always given the littluns the irrational fear of him being a vampire. It was not until Jack had confirmed he was not a vampire, and forbidded the kids from ever talking about that subject did they stop doubting Roger's mortality.

Feeling like a big black cloud was following him, Roger's black eyes looked up to the sky, but it was completely sunny, and what was up above was a clear light blue. _Like chief's eyes_ , Roger compared. He rubbed his temples and stared down to the ground to try to get rid of the headache that suddenly appeared. The sky was too bright for him. A long sigh escaped his lips as he kept walking, trying to remember the reason why another letter appeared in his mind, after _S_ and _I._ He wrote the letters in his palm with his finger, continuously, so that he would not forget them, for he knew he would.

_M_

The pattern repeated, even without his acknowledgement. Roger looked up, finding himself facing the sea, the waves crashed into his feet, bringing a little of the soaked sand that was burrying his toes away. He stared at the horizon, confused of how he had even gotten to that part of the island. The cry of the cicadas echoed from the jungle, and the sea was never done with taking away what the shore had. Roger glanced sideways, and his eyes caught a figure lying on the sand, half of its body was still hit by the waves. He walked there, trying not to get too interested in how his toes were buried under the wet sand that felt like mud.

Roger pulled the body out of the water, and was surprised to see holes that looked like the person had been stabbed by countless sticks, or objects of that size. He ran his finger across the sliperry skin. The person had a deep tan complexion, much contrast to his. The person was wearing only gray boy shorts that looked similar to what he was wearing, though his was dry and smeared with dried pig blood and face paint, while the other's was soaked and had some hints of blood on them. Roger put one of his arms underneath the body, and flipped it over.

His pupils dilated, and his heart felt like it had stopped.

The person's eyes were shut, and his brows were two nice curves above the closed eyelids. His lips looked like they were curving up into a happy smile. And his hair was dark brown, soaked with water. The blue flower had probably been washed by away by the ruthless ocean, but Roger did not need it to haunt and cruelly remind him anymore. The seemingly sleeping face had already burned into his mind, viciously making him reminisce what he had been trying to shield himself from, and all of the sudden, the letters appeared again, though this time, they were immediate, with an addition of two more.

"Simon."

The cicadas kept crying their sorrowful songs, and the waves were still slowly taking away grains of sand from the shore.


	3. Luminescence

_"What is that?"_

_"This is a flower crown," the tanned boy raised up a chain of blue, almost indigo, and pink flowers. His green eyes sparkled in the sunset, "you wanna try it on?"_

_The black-eyed boy stared at the flower crown for a moment. His eyes scanned it to take in every little details, every single knot tied together by the bent sprigs. He then moved his gaze up to the boy sitting next to him. The boy's face was almost like begging him to wear the flower crown, which was too colorful for him. But, at the same time, the pleading expression took away all his resistance. His black hair flew a little as he nodded slightly, only for the other person to see his reaction._

_The tanned boy's face lightened up a bit more, as if it was not bright enough. He stood on the tips of his toes trying to reach the other's head. The black-haired boy lowered his head a little so that it would be easier for his friend to put the flower crown on. They smiled at each other, the tanned boy had a nice curve on his lips, and the much paler one had the two corners of his mouth slightly raised, the closest he could get to a smile so far. The tanned boy suddenly grabbed his friend's hand, making both their hearts skipped a beat._

_"I.. want to show you a place," he murmured timidly, then pulled the other boy with him. He ran into the forest, with his friend following, hands refusing to let go for a reason neither of them knew. The more they walked, the more the jungle closed in. Soon, they were surrounded by tall trees, and the creepers hung across, lacing into each other with no definite patterns, not allowing the light to pierce through. The earth there was softer than near the beach, and they felt like they were stepping on a sponge. The tanned boy wormed himself into the space behind the creeper mat, and the other followed._

_They found themselves in a closed bowl of heat and light. The black-haired boy put one arm in front of his eyes to block the light. It was too bright for him. The tanned boy scratched his head of thick hazel-colored hair, and sat down. His friend picked a place with the most shade and sat. They were both silent, listening to the cry of the cicadas near there and the sound of the waves gently coming into the shore. The black-haired boy looked around, scrutinizing the closed area, then glanced down to dirt-covered feet and saw a chameleon crawling just a few centimeters next to him. His hand reached down to the chameleon. He grabbed it in the neck with thumb and index finger, then pressed those two fingers together. The chameleon made an unpleasant choking sound as he squeezed it even tighter._

_"Hey, don't choke it like that," the hazel-haired boy spoke up. His begging expression, again, gave the other boy no chances of resisting. He lowered his hand to the ground and let the reptile go. The brown-haired boy smiled gently, and that made an unfamiliar wave of heat hit the other boy's cheeks. It was silent again, but the silence was not a little more peaceful than awkward._

_The black-haired boy, again, scanned the place, and his glance stopped at a wild indigo-colored flower just next to the other boy's head. He stood up and walked to the brown-haired boy in the other one's astonishment. He pinched off the flower, then lowered his head to the other boy's eye level. There noses almost touched, and the brown-haired boy felt a rush of heat running to his cheeks. He felt the other boy carefully lacing the flower's sprig into his sweaty brown strands of hair. Feeling satisfied with his work, the boy with black hair took a small step back while staring at the other's face. The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly, then a little more, finally forming a nice curve on the bottom half of his face._

_"You look nice," he decided to break the silence, "and cute."_

_His words did not come out as he expected. He blushed, hoping the weirdness would fade away. The brown-haired boy blushed, too, though it was not that visible due to his dark skin. Their gazes locked into each other, and the constant beats of their hearts echoed in their ears, along with the cry of the cicadas and the waves' song that they sung when they crashed into the shore._

_"Keep this place a secret, okay?" The brown-haired boy said, his voice was quiet, almost like a whisper, one that could not be heard if the listener did not pay enough attention._

_The boy with black hair nodded, then, with a quick motion, he lowered his head to lightly peck the other's cheek. The brown-haired boy was taken by surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and his pupils slightly dilated. The black-haired boy wormed his way through the creepers, and before he was completely out, he turned his head back._

_"I'll keep this place a secret if you keep that as one," he smiled, "deal?"_


	4. Limerence

**_"Say something I'm giving up on you."_**

* * *

Roger parted the leaves, and pinched off a dark pink-colored flower, purposely leaving the long sprig. He added it to his handful of flowers as he walked. He had been collecting flowers for God-knows how long. Beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead and the crook of his neck. He wiped them off, then proceeded to make his way through the forest. He had his eyes on every flowers on the way, and took the most beautiful ones. His lips slightly curved up at the realization that people only destroy the most beautiful beings. He chuckled to himself in sarcasm, then felt his cheeks getting hot again, only this time he knew the reason why.

He pressed his palm against his forehead to feel it. It was not as hot as a while ago, probably because of all the sweating. Roger put the flowers he collected in a dry and empty coconut shell, and held it carefully to his chest. He stepped into the soft soil, and pinched off another flower below his feet before finally meeting the former chief's eyes.

They were quite beautiful, if only time did not cause the color of the sky at midnight to fade. The eyelids were cut off since the current chief had always wanted to stare at those eyes that would permanently express fear, and take pride in what he did. The golden locks of hair were slightly flying and falling to the ground beneath in the small wind that blew through the forest, giving Roger chills running down his spine like electricity. The old chief's skin was pale, without any hints of blood, and rotting. Flies were buzzing around him, and a white worm-like creature, only shorter, was crawling out from his mouth and the holes they dug on his skin. A stick was jammed down deep in the earth with its one sharpened end, and impaled into the disintegrating flesh with the other sharpened end. The head slightly wobbled in the wind. Roger sat down, eyes locking into the head.

He heard a voice. Deep, cracking, defeated, ragged, yet some of the power in it still remained like when its owner was holding a big, cream-colored shell. He stared at the sacrifice for the beast, eyes unblinking.

 _Why didn't you save him?_ The voice accused, rebuking him.

 _Why didn't_ you _? You were chief_. Roger mentally replied, and just kept staring at the discolored eyes.

 _I no longer had authority. I didn't have the power. You were different. They feared you, after that beast, and swine, and thief. You could've stopped them. You knew it was him, but you didn't stop them._ The voice kept getting more and more intense, stressing every word it spoke.

Roger bowed his head down, this time keeping his eyes on the ground. He buried his face within his knees, his arms wrapping around his legs. His cheeks and eyes were hot again, and his forehead was on fire. He let out a small sigh. _I couldn't, my body wouldn't move_. _I tried, but even my throat refused to let out a sound to warn them. I was scared. I shouldn't have given up. I could've saved him, but I was too scared._

The voice was silent. The head stopped wobbling, and the eyes stopped right at him. It glared down at him.

 _Well, it's too late now, isn't it?_ The voice sounded defeated. It chuckled bitterly.

_Isn't it?_

_What were you so afraid of that stopped you from saving him?_

_Jack?_

_The beast?_

_Or yourself getting caught in the fun of killing the beast?_

Roger laced his fingers together. He lifted his head up. His eyes were, again, focused on the old chief's. He looked down to his coconut shell filled with wild flowers, and stood up. He turned his back, and kept walking. The jungle closed in on him, and the cicadas started crying. The sound of the waves still echoed in his ears as he walked under the shades of the tall trees, trying to avoid the creepers hanging without an order. The sun still shone its light on his bare back even though it was blocked by the trees behind him. Roger huddled into the space hidden within the hanging creepers, and found himself at the perfect spot to watch the sunset, but he was not there to do that. He sat down on a rock, putting the coconut shell of flowers down next to his feet, picked up two flowers and started knotting them together. He tried to remember how he did it the last time, being taught by another boy. He felt the other's hand gently holding his, instructing him on how not to destroy anything. _No, not like that_ , the person would say, smiling at him in frustration. Their cheeks would brush into each other, and they would turn red like two ripe tomatoes. Roger unconsciously smiled at the thought, though at that moment, he did not feel any small, tanned hands touching his, or a bare chest against his back.

The amount flowers in the coconut shell decreased as the string of flowers in his hands got longer. Roger finished his flower crown, rough and not at all that beautiful, when the moon appeared in front of his eyes. That white and cold light covered his pale skin, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes were. He wiped away the sweat on his forehead, feeling that it had cooled down a bit again, and began moving towards the figure lying limply at the corner of the secret place. His black eyes were watery, and he stared at the seemingly sleeping face.

 _Peaceful_. He thought, and placed the flower crown on top of the person's head. Roger kneeled down, his gaze was still towards the tanned boy.

"Simon, say something," he whispered. His voice cracked, unwilling to take silence as an answer from the person in front of him. He felt the unfamiliar wave of heat rushing to his cheeks, and the water kept filling his eyes.

The cicadas cried.

"Please, anything." The wind blew through the tall trees, making a whistling sound. Roger looked at the other one, black eyes begging for a sound other than the silence in his ears.

The sea cried.

"Just say something," Roger's lips shivered. His upper teeth bit his lower lips until they bled, but they would not stop shaking.

The wind cried.

" _Anything_ ," he broke down, his face was to the ground, an earthy scent was in his nose.

_And he cried._

* * *

 


	5. Possession

**_"We are bound to each other's hearts. Caught, torn and pulled apart."_**

* * *

"Roger!"

In his dreams, the boy with pale skin, black hair and eyes with dark circles underneath them heard a voice calling his name. He rarely dreamt, and what he could ever see in those visions was a pit of darkness, with only him inside it. He would see himself with eyes shedding blood as tears, broken gray wings, and hands, scarred, blood-soaked, reaching up, without hope. A red spot in the middle of a black pit. He would scream, loud, but no one would hear him, and no one would come to help him. He would wake up, his shirt drenched in sweat, his eyes half open, being too familiar with the dream. He would feel his cheeks and eyes getting hot for a reason he had forgotten.

It was not the same in that dream.

He saw light, from the sun, a bright light, splendid to other people, but irritating to him. He turned around to see green surrounding him, with the sound of cicadas, and birds, and the waves crashing into the shore. He looked around, and became aware of the feeling of secrecy in the place. He glanced down, and his eyes were caught in a figure of another boy sitting at the corner. The boy had a deeply tanned skin with thick hair that were hazel in color. His forest green eyes were opening, and were staring forward. They were so bright they looked like they were two stars stuck in the boy's eyes. The boy moved his gaze up to him and smiled. For a moment, he was stuck in the boy's smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but he kept choking on his words. He saw the boy spreading his arms out, stood up to pull him into an embrace, but in the end just tripped and fell into him, making them both fall, he on his back, and the boy on him. He lifted his head a little to look at the boy's feet. His pupils dilated as he saw the open wounds formed by sharpened wooden sticks. The boy's legs were small and skinny, and white, small creatures were crawling all over them, and flies buzzed around them, making a part of his left leg look like a mass of black. The boy's arms that were wrapping around him looked the same, and his face was rotting. Discolored green eyes stared at him, raging, fuming.

" _Why didn't you save me?_ " He said, his teeth gritting, creating an awful sound.

Roger opened his eyes. His breath was quick and short, his heart was beating fast, and his bare back was sweating. He noticed that his eyes were wet and his nose was stuck. He sat up while wiping away the dirt that stuck on his right arm, ear and black hair. He turned sideways to see the same boy from his dream, in the same position, but sleeping, or seemingly so. The flower crown attracted bees, and his body drew flies there. Roger busted a big leaf and got rid of the creatures before worming himself out of the place.

He heard his name being called all over the island and kept walking down the slope of the jungle until in front of him was an open space, and he bumped into Maurice. The other boy, who was in the middle of calling his name turned around. His face shifted from concerned to surprised, then he grinned and grabbed Roger's shoulders with both hands, intentionally pressing hard.

"Rodge, there you are, do you have any idea how worried chief was?" He said, his hand clinging even tighter to Roger's shoulders, "he's been searching for you the whole afternoon, and he doesn't let anyone, I mean _anyone_ ," he stressed on the word, "rest until we find you."

"I fell asleep in the woods," Roger's voice was still raspy, but at least his throat was a little better.

"How did you even.." Maurice seemed unconvinced. He looked around, and immediately spotted the chief's ginger hair. "Never mind. Chief!" He called out, "I found Roger!"

The red-headed chief turned around, his eyes caught the sight of the raven hair. He walked through the part of the forest between them, and, before he himself knew it, pushed Roger against a tree. Jack's bony fingers pressed hard into the shorter boy's shoulders, and his gaze pierced through the boy. His breath was short, and his lungs were filled with much more anger than he thought he was feeling. He gritted his teeth, and his face was so close to the other's that their noses touched.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Jack blurted out the words before he even knew it, his voice was hoarse from shouting Roger's name, "where have you been?"

"I fell asleep in the forest," Roger gave the excuse again, his eyes staring straight into the chief's, "got tired, and dozed off."

Maurice had gone off somewhere. Jack turned his head around, looking almost furtive, then, with a sudden movement, pulled Roger closer to him, and wrapped both his arms around the smaller boy. Their bare chests touched, and Roger's head was buried and pressed into the crook of Jack's neck. The constant beat of the disobedient organ lying within Jack's chest echoed in Roger's ears. The sandy scent from Jack's body, along with the tangy, iron smell of dried blood filled his nose. His pupils dilated slightly, and his heart beat a little faster from the shock.

"Don't do that again," Jack's voice was almost like a whisper in Roger's ears. His light blue eyes glanced at the boy in his arms, and on his face was an oddly gentle expression, "because.." His eyes glanced around, looking for a reason, "because I don't like it." The sense of possession took over him. Jack raised his voice. "Yeah, because I don't like you wandering around in the forest. You're _my_ hunter, you belong to my tribe, and to me only."

* * *

He with light blue eyes stared at the starry night, assuming the boy with black hair had fallen asleep at the back of the cave because he had told him so. He ran a hand through his mess of red hair and broken twigs, then realized how much he had acted like the former chief of the island, that fair boy. He had washed his face and body paint off long ago, right after the feast he had just thrown with the pig they succeeded hunting that afternoon. The brown freckles appeared to have decreased in number, but they were still enough to be one of his distinct traits. He was humming a melody, one of the songs he used to sing during Choir. From his throat came a high and beautiful note that echoed in the night, then disappeared. He tried to keep his voice down so that the boy, presumably sleeping, at the back could get his night's rest. The more he wandered into his thoughts, the more he felt that sense of ownership over that boy with black hair and pale skin. He adjusted his position, then put both hands under his head, and watched the small dots that emit light twinkling above.

His eyes slowly shut, and his breath was a peaceful rhythm.

Darkness took over his vision.

* * *

 


	6. Revelation

Except for the sound of the waves and the faint cries of cicadas every now and then, the island was completely quiet. The stars still twinkled above, and the black eyes of the boy who was staring at them did not seem to reflect that light. Seeing a fly flying near his company, the black-eyed boy busted a leaf and fanned it away.

"Hey Simon, the stars are nice today. You'll like them," Roger tried to lift the corners of his mouth up again, but then felt like he could not without seeing the other's opening eyes, so he stopped trying, "Simon, wake up and look at the stars."

He felt the corner of his eyes getting wet again.

"Simon, I can't smile anymore, not without you," his voice was cracking, "so please wake up." He grabbed a tanned arm, and began shaking it ferociously, "wake up."

Roger turned to face forward, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his head was buried in the two arms. His black eyes stared at the soil below his feet.

" _Wake up_ ," he whispered to no one.

"Can't sleep?" A voice coming from next to him made Roger lift his head. He wiped the warm liquid off his eyes, then looked at Maurice until the boy with broad shoulders sat down on the soil.

"I'm supposed to keep this place a secret."

"Promised a friend, didn't you?" Maurice glanced at the body next to Roger, then saw the frown on Roger's face, and smiled, "not your fault. I followed you here. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Roger nodded, then continued watching the stars, but Maurice did not want the silence to extend.

"This place is quite nice. You can see everything from here. But if you want to come here, you'll have to walk pass—" Maurice choked at the word, it was forbidden from ever being mentioned "—the sacrifice," he continued.

Roger only nodded.

"Where did you find.."

"The beach."

Maurice received a glare from Roger, telling him not to mention that subject. The silence was unbearable, but Roger was not the social kind, and Maurice knew that. He examined the place, his fingers drumming on the soil. The frequent sound of the sea crashing into shore, and the cries of cicadas echoed in his ears. It was the first time he noticed these noises. Suddenly, Maurice saw a weird star constantly moving. He stared at it, questioning himself. Then, with a suddenly revelation, he cupped his hands and caught the insect. He lifted one finger to peek in, and saw a faint light emitting from the creature.

"Hey Rodge, look." Maurice let Roger, who was looking at him curiously have a peek inside his palms, "a firefly. I bet S— I mean he will like it."

Roger received the firefly from Maurice, and brought it close to the tanned boy next to him.

"Simon, open your eyes, there's a firefly," his voice was a soft whisper, only enough for Maurice to catch some fragments of his words.

But the other's eyelids did not even flutter.

Roger looked down to his closed hands. He heard a faint voice inside of him that told him to kill the creature. _Because Simon didn't want it._ The voice said. But there was another voice, a fainter and softer one echoing inside his head.

_Don't kill it, at least for me._

_Let it go._

Roger hesitated, then opened his hands. The firefly flew out, its fluorescent light twinkled like that of a star.

"Chief won't like that."

"Like what?"

"You talking to another one like that," Maurice suddenly looked serious.

"Why?"

There was a sense of hesitation in Maurice's eyes.

"Because he likes you," he said this in a fast pace, "not like a friend, it's a different kind of like, I think. You know, the fluttering feelings in your stomach when you see a certain person."

Roger was silent, so Maurice continued.

"I guess so. He looks at you differently, and notices and talks about you a lot, and I can feel he is a little nervous around you, he favors you more, and the search for you this evening, too. I kind of know, because I used to feel this way for a girl before we went here. I never got the chance to tell her though, and I thought when Jack pushed you into that tree, he was going to tell you," the words came out and faded away just as quick as Maurice's heartbeat, for he felt the guilt from saying something he should not have. "I guess when you like someone, there's just no real way of hiding it."

"Just like when I'm around Simon," Roger murmured.

Maurice froze. He looked at the raven-haired boy next to him in disbelief.

"Chi— I mean Jack won't like that either."

"Where do you think that firefly come from?" Roger changed the subject, his black eyes staring at the obsidian-colored sky.

"It flew here, I think. Or it's just always here, and we've never noticed enough to see it."

Roger nodded again.

"Promise me you'll never tell anyone about this place. He'll be mad if he knows someone else found out about it."

It was Maurice's turn to nod.

* * *

"Roger's been weird these days," Jack chipped away more wood from his spear, trying to sharpen it.

"How weird?" Maurice sat by him, his legs dangling on the edge of the mountain.

"He isn't interested in hunting anymore, and he wears less face paint. I think he's also trying to avoid me. I don't know why."

A sudden wave of guilt rushed into Maurice.

"Maybe he's.. tired." He said, his fingers starting to drum the soil.

"No way, he isn't sick anymore, he should be strong," Jack stopped chipping the wood from his spear and looked at Maurice, "or did I not feed him enough? Do you think we should've given Roger more meat? I mean he doesn't eat much, and that's bad already."

The chief's constant ramble about the raven-haired boy annoyed Maurice, but, at the same time, he still felt the guilt from something, not the fact that he was hiding Roger's secret hideout, or that he knew Roger liked a dead person, but because he knew Jack liked the other boy, but he had not been acknowledged yet, or had been denying his disobedient heart. He started breathing out loudly, trying to decide if he should let Jack realize it himself, or acknowledge the chief of his obstreperous heart. He looked into the chief's eyes, and decided to open his mouth.

"Do you like Roger?" Maurice mumbled, his voice was only enough for Jack to hear him.

"L.. _like_?"


	7. Ethereality

"What do you mean by _like_?" Jack's eyebrows rose as he questioned the nervous-looking Maurice. His curly red hair was getting into his eyes as they were growing longer, and he needed to find a way to keep them out, but he was too occupied even for that. Oddly enough, he found his heart beating violently at the mention of Roger's name.

"I guess I meant.." Maurice drummed his fingers on the rock, looking for the best description of the weird feeling he himself could not understand. He glanced at the sea, trying to avoid Jack's confused gaze. "Uh.."

"Go on."

"It's like.." Maurice's tongue swept across his lips. Apparently, he was the most hydrated of all boys, since almost every one of them had dry lips. He suddenly though of his home back in England. His thoughts fixated on the girl he had developed feelings for, and a temporary explanation formed inside his head. "It's like when you look at someone, and you think, 'Oh God, I've found my home.' And when you're around them, you feel comfortable, yet still a little awkward, but you know that you can tell the person everything about yourself without any feelings of hesi.. hesa.." Maurice paused, his eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember the word.

"Hesitation?"

"Yes. And you can just stare at them for literally hours. You feel your heart beat faster around them, you see light shining from them and to you, they're perfect. You feel like you have to protect them from every danger because that one, and that one only is your home."

A sea gull flew by, its cry echoing in the air and disappeared. The waves crashed into the shore in its irregular rhythm. Jack stabbed a lizard crawling by his feet with his knife, but the creature got away, and the blade hit the rock underneath.

"I've seen how you look at him, chief." Maurice restarted the conversation, his voice solemn and unusual, and his eyes were toward the setting sun. "There's no denying it."

Jack was silent. He tried to think up a topic to distract themselves from this awkward one, but could not come up with anything that would not eventually lead to the mention of Roger. His brows furrowed at the thoughts of his lieutenant's odd behaviors recently.

Jack had always noticed how Roger enjoyed destroying and killing and torturing, like when they were still in school, the boy threw a pocket knife up a tree, wounding a bird. The bird was a small, golden canary. It fell down with the knife still in its wings, and Roger brought it back to his house. The next morning, he showed up with the intestines of the bird that he eventually put in a younger boy's book bag just to mentally torment him. Roger had changed. The change was unnatural, since Jack had always noticed how unmoved his sadism was towards everything. No one at school could even make him behave differently, but it seemed like Roger had been acting like that because of someone.

Jack tried to recall the last time Roger obeyed someone besides him.

"Chief," Maurice's voice interrupted him. Jack turned to the other in annoyance. "As I was saying."

"Bollocks to you."

"Are you thinking of Roger again? You always look like you're constipated when you're thinking of him." This startled the chief, making him nod and his cheeks turning crimson.

Maurice sighed. The chief, Jack Merridew, may be excellent in many aspects, but his knowledge in that area was limited, or maybe it was because he had too much pride to own up to it. A boy liking another boy was wrong anyway, wrong on so many levels. He pulled some grass that had grown under the rock up and fondled it with his two fingers. Chief liked Roger, and Roger liked a dead person. It was like a chain reaction with no ends. _One of God's fucked up games._ He thought.

"The feelings you have for him have always been there, chief," Maurice let go of the grass in his hand, and, again, moved his gaze to the setting sun. The sky was getting darker. "Right from the start. It's always been there. You just haven't noticed it enough to know that it's there. Like the firefly." He nodded to himself.

Jack stared at Maurice, questioning the hunter's words. The cicadas started crying, and his eyes moved away from Maurice, fixated on a glowing creature. Thinking that it was just phosphene, he rubbed his eyes, but the glow was still there. His bony hands reached out, and with a fluid movement, captured the creature. He peeked into his closed palms, and saw a light illuminating the darkness created by his hands.

A firefly.

Turned out, it was there all along.

He just did not notice it enough to know.

* * *

The red-headed hunter walked along the trees in silence. The sun had gone home a moment ago, a home where it belonged. He looked around, not knowing what he was looking for. He swiped his tongue across his dry lips, grasping tree trunks absentmindedly in the dark. His mind was still trying to recall the last time Roger was obedient to somebody, anybody, but him. His insides curled up at the thought of the raven-haired boy listening to another person beside him. Jack unconsciously gripped tight to his knife. As if anyone would dare to steal what was his. His teeth gritted.

But what if Roger liked someone else?

Just the thought of Roger belonging to someone else alone made Jack uncomfortable. He snatched his knife out of his belt and slammed it on a tree trunk next to him, his heart beat faster and his teeth dug into his bottom lips. He then took his knife back, and put it where it belonged, on his belt. His light blue eyes stared forward, and caught a glimpse of the former chief's discolored ocean blue ones. He approached the other chief, avoiding to look at the flies buzzing around and the white larva crawling out of his skin. The expression of fear was still there. It had always been there when he stared into those eyes. He himself had ordered to have the eyelids cut off, so that those eyes would forever open wide in fear. Fear of him. Never had he regretted his decision so bad.

He needed that blond's advice. Or at least talk to him.

A noise from behind startled Jack. He quickly hid behind a bush, his right hand gripping the knife again.

The one causing the sound was a raven-haired boy, but it was not just any raven-haired boy. It was Roger.

He walked pass the rotting former chief, in his hand was a coconut shell filled with wild flowers. He looked around cautiously, then wormed himself into a space behind the creepers hanging across each other. Jack watched as his pale legs disappeared in the green of the creepers, then emerged from behind the bush and carefully walked to the creepers. He peeked inside.

Roger was concentrating on what seemed to be a flower crown. But there was another one. Someone with deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair, who looked like he was sleeping and watching Roger at the same time.

Memories of the only time Roger would dare to contradict him flooded his mind.


	8. Hiraeth

**_"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."_ **

\- Neil Gailman, _The Kindly Ones._

..

_Hiraeth._

A Welsh word without a direct English translation, meaning homesickness for a home one could not return, or that never was.

The first time Jack saw that word, hiraeth, he was in the school's library, going through the thick dictionary hoping to learn some new vocabulary to impress the choir. He did not comprehend the meaning of it back then, to the point where he thought it was silly. A home one could not return was most definitely not a familiar concept to him.

The second time, he heard it from the mouth of a homeless Welsh man. He still did not get the word then.

The third time, it came to his mind when he realized the one he considered his home was never his.

This time, he understood the meaning of the word, and the painful feeling along with it.

..

_Jack hated losing._

_Whenever he lost, he would hear his mother hissing. Her cold blue eyes would shine that chilling light of disappointment on him. She would slowly shake her head, her voice monotonous and harsh. He would hear her teeth grit, and she would point at him with her bony finger._

_"How many times have I told you, Merridew? Do-not-disappoint."_

_"Yes mother." He would always reply, his head bowing down, his eyes fixated on the ground. "I will succeed next time."_

_Which was why he wanted to be followed, and also why he hated being betrayed._

_And why he could not stand it when a certain black-haired boy he considered the closest to him cared for another one not him._

_.._

_The Choir room had always been Jack Merridew's territory. He was the absolute king there. He controlled every boy in the Choir. He enjoyed how the sense of power and authority overwhelm him ever since he became the chapter chorister and head boy. He had the belief that with his power, everyone, in the Choir at least, would be under his command, they would do whatever he wanted them to, all because they were controlled by him._

_Like the ideal leader that he considered himself to be, Jack hated people who disobey. He once kicked a boy out of the choir just because that boy had refused to go get the music scores on his order. Jack was hard on everyone, but, for some reason, he was less like that when it came to a certain boy._

_Jack had always fascinated with the way Roger just did not care much about rules, even if he was disciplined. He was always alone in a corner, lost in the maze of his own thoughts, never talked to anyone. The boy with raven hair and strangely pale skin was the only boy beside him who could reach C sharp, but he would rarely open his mouth, unless necessary. The boy had a cold glare, almost intimidating to Jack. Everyone called him Scary Eyes, a name which Jack guessed he was not too fond of. Even if he was somehow feared by the whole school, Jack still had a rather strange fancy for him. He was interested in every aspects of that boy, except for one._

_Roger was protective of Simon._

_Simon was that mystic boy who could always faint everywhere, and would always look out of the window during Choir practice or practically anything, focused on his "precious" nature. Jack did not mind this, of course, as long as he sang the right notes and the right parts, which he somehow always did. Different from Roger, who could never do anything properly, Simon was always the best at everything, despite all his daydreaming._

_Everything was fine, of course, until the day Jack walked pass the classroom during break. He heard crying coming from the inside. He knew those voices. He heard them everyday during Choir practice. He peeked in through the slightly opened door._

_He saw Roger's head buried in Simon's chest. The sobbing was from Roger. Jack saw Simon lightly stroking the other's hair, his face hidden within the other's black hair. Jack's fist clenched tight at the thought of someone taking his exclusive place by Roger's side. His nails dug into the sweaty palms, trying hard not to lose his head. His teeth gritted. Roger was his, and his only. It was not love, more like possessiveness over an object of obsession. He heard the small whispers between the two boys. It enraged him even more._

_"You're not alone anymore. You have me now, and I'm not afraid of you."_

_"For real?"_

_For a moment, Jack thought Simon was going to laugh maliciously, saying it was all a joke, and it would be his turn to comfort the raven inside that room. It would have been better that way, at least that was what he thought._

_"For real."_

_They were not the most pleasant words to Jack. He wanted to be the one to say it to Roger. It was supposed to be him in that room, running his hand through the matte black hair, whispering soft and comforting words, actions which he had no means of telling if he had the capability to commit, to the damaged boy inside. He felt a fire burning up his insides as he watched them wrapping their arms around one another. He wanted his Roger back._

_.._

_It was raining heavily. Simon was ordered to carry the music sheets for Choir that day from the Music room to where the Choir practiced. He was clumsy, as always, and the sheets were scattered all over the floor as he tripped over some water and fell. He, however, was aided by Roger, who was standing quite a distance from there. The scene irritated Jack, as he specifically ordered Simon to carry the sheets to make him trip on purpose, since there was some water on the floor from the rain outside. He wanted to make fun of him, no, kick him out of the Choir for whatever reason he could find (that was relevant, of course)._

_Seeing that a few sheets had been soaked in water from the rain, Jack stepped in between Simon and Roger as they were collecting the sheets on the floor, his back towering over Roger. The cold blue eyes glared down at the small boy in front of him, the same glare his mother would use on him every time he disappointed her._

_Simon flinched at the bone-chilling light from the Chapter Chorister's narrow eyes. He did not dare to look up, wondering what he had done wrong. His eyes glanced pass a few fallen, soaked music sheets. Then, it dawned on him. Jack never liked having the music sheets damaged._

_"Do you have any idea how much these old sheets worth?" The Chapter Chorister gritted his teeth,_

_"I.. I'm sorry." Simon mouthed his apology, not daring to speak up._

_"Will sorry make up for the damages you've caused?"_

_"N-no."_

_Simon's eyes were brimming with tears and it irritated Jack even further. He took it upon himself to kick this annoying, pathetic cry-baby out of the Choir at all cost. He glanced at the puzzled-looking Roger behind him, putting all his trust on the loyalty he assumed the other boy would have. His mind flashed back to the time when a significant raven-haired boy would always promise to be by his side, to be his second-in-command, his right hand, his. Maybe he did not say the latter, but Jack had interpreted it from what the other told him._

_"Well, then, I want you out of the Choir this instance." Coldly, Jack spat the words with utmost cruelty. His blue eyes glinted that eerie light that chilled Simon to the bones._

_"No." A voice from behind Jack replied for Simon. Jack did not need to turn back to see who it was._

_"It's not your turn to speak, Roger."_

_What was it he was feeling? Jack asked himself. Was it guilt? Why was he feeling guilt just from saying that to that one black-haired boy?_

_"It wasn't Simon's fault." Roger protested._

_"I don't care. He wasn't careful enough, and that's his fault."_

_For a while, Roger went back to being his silent self._

_"It's my fault." He finally said, causing the whole Choir to turn to him in surprise._

_"What!" Jack half screamed, half questioned Roger. "You can't be responsible for that! You didn't do anything!"_

_"I am, for Simon."_

_Jack clenched his fists until his knuckles were white from all the pressure. His face was red with rage and the freckles seemed to have disappeared from the redness of his skin. Roger was supposed to stand by him._

Him.

_"Please, whatever you do, don't kick Simon out of the Choir." Roger stared at Jack. His eyes were weak, defeated, submitted, to Jack. But, at the same time, those black orbs were looking at Simon's brilliant green ones in a way that was so caring and gentle._

_That was when the word crossed Jack's mind._

Hiraeth.

 _The feelings he had were like walking into a house he knew very well he never belonged to him, but still inclined to live in it forever, declaring that it was his home._ His.

_How miserable._

_Jack bit his lip, walking away from Roger, Simon and the sheets on the floor. His fists still clenched tight._

_"You two are lucky today." He mumbled before commanding the Choir to go and pick up the scattered music sheets. Everyone complied. They all knew how scary Jack was when enraged._

_The feelings rushed into Jack. He did not know what to feel, for all his emotions had been bottled up too much. The years that he used trying to meet with his parents' expectations had taught him to restrain his feelings, to not let them affect his academic performance._

_That was why Jack hated losing, to anyone._

_And why he hated losing that certain black-haired boy even more._


	9. Evanescence

" ** _Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see."_**

* * *

With all his strength, Jack Merridew snatched his knife out of the belt and started destroying the creepers blocking the space, making his way inside.

Roger was startled. He dropped the flower crown on his hands, but then picked it up and held it to his chest. He watched as the red-headed hunter made his way to the body. His light blue eyes were foggy, almost opaque. He kicked the body sideways, the flies buzzing around it and the white larva digging holes in the body fled for a moment, then were back on the body again. The knife was raised above the hunter's head. The rotting scent was irritating his nose, and he stuck the knife in the body, then snatched it out, then stuck it in, then snatched, stuck, snatched, stuck, snatched. His breath was heavy as he continuously stabbed an already dead body.

Roger's eyes widened. The corners of his mouth trembled slightly as the scene of that night came back to haunt him. Thunder echoed in his ears and the bloodthirsty chants were surrounding him. He saw the figure lying limply in the sand, its blood soaking in everything. He saw the fire dancing around and the boy-like silhouettes raising and stabbing their sharpened sticks at the one curled up in the middle of the circle. Roger dropped the flower crown and covered his ears with his hands. He shut his eyes, his lips shook violently.

When he reopened his eyes, Roger caught sight of an indigo flower.

He felt his heart clenching tight for an unknown reason, as if something was choking him. He opened his mouth so that the words could escape. Nothing came out but the air from his lungs. He reached his hand down to touch the flowers, but there was something stopping him. He felt another hand gently touching his. He heard a soft voice instructing him on how to make a flower crown. He saw someone smiling, such a faint and soft, yet warm smile. Roger turned to his right. Someone was stabbing Simon's body. He blindly stood up and ran there, his hand slid in between the knife and the corpse, the blade went through the porcelain white skin, penetrating the tissues within that layer of skin, and came out on the other side of the small hand. Tears escaped his eyes as he did what he should have done that night.

_Should have._

He felt the Chief pausing. The grip on the knife was loosened and the bony hands dropped. Roger turned to the body that barely looked like one. His other hand caressed the area he assumed was a face. His gaze was soft, gentle, and _caring_. The images flashed in front of him again. He saw something like a smile, or a flower crown, or a small, tanned hand reaching out to his. They kept replaying in front of him like a broken video tape. A voice reverberated in his mind, it said something about a flower, or a lizard, or a dead man on the hill.

"Why does Simon matter?" He heard the redhead ask, the name was a baseball bat. It beat and beat his heart until the poor thing could barely stand up.

_Why does Simon matter?_

Because he taught Roger to make a flower crown.

Because he stopped Roger from killing the lizard.

Because he was kind.

Because he cared when no one did.

 _Because he promised to always be there_.

"Why don't I matter, then. I am your Chief and your superior." The Chief asked again, his voice low and hoarse. "You're mine, but all you can think about is Simon, Simon, _Simon_. Can't you see that I also matter? Why Simon? Why not me?"

Roger stared at Jack and the anger glinting from his light blue eyes. What he saw was not the redhead, but a circle of boys, all painted, chanting, dancing, thrusting their spears in a frail body. He did not want to see this. He wanted it to stop. He covered his head the best be could with his hands and curled into a ball, shaking. The blade poked at a side of his head, but he was at the point where he did not care anymore. He just wanted the vague recall of that night to stop before they became so vivid that he had to remember them forever. The memories of the faint smile on a certain someone's lips were mixed in between the chanting crowd. It was unbearable. His left chest suddenly throbbed with pain. Something was grabbing it and squeezing with so much force it made him gasp. The small pale hands gripped on his black hair, pulling at them hard, trying to ease the pain.

"Roger!"

He heard someone calling his name in the middle of the frenzy. He looked up. The sight of the worried Chief blended in with a smiling tanned boy. Roger's breath was short, and every time he tried to take in air, his chest hurt so bad he thought it might explode. He collapsed on the ground, and blacked out.

The redhead felt his heart stopping, too. What was that? Why had he never seen Roger like that before? Gently, he pulled his knife out of the boy's small hand, biting his lips as he did so. After having put the knife in his belt, he scooped the unconscious boy up in his arms and headed back to Castle Rock, emotions all blended up into a kind of screwed-up juice.

* * *

"Why did you do that?" Jack heard the broad-shouldered boy as he spoke, in the middle of the night's dead silence.

"What else was I supposed to do? It was your fault, showing me why I liked Roger, and what did you expect? That I wouldn't do something stupid?" He turned around, facing Maurice.

"I thought you wouldn't, because I thought you knew what Roger felt for Simon, and because you liked him, and you don't destroy people you feel those kinds of connection to."

"I didn't destroy Ro–"

"You did!" Maurice breathed out heavily. His face going red from anger. He did not know what he was angry of, or why he got furious much quicker than usual. "There's something wrong with his heart, I once heard his parents talk about that. His heart hurts whenever he's under stress or something like that, and then he passes out. And one time, when I read about it in the encyclopedia, it said that people could die from that disease. And I.. just don't want anyone _dying_ anymore." His voice was shaky in a mixture of anger, fear, and a new, strange emotion that he had yet to figure out the name to.

Jack was silent. The cicadas started crying around them, and the sea started its chant as the waves crashed into the shore.

"Loving someone means doing everything to keep them happy, even if you have to bite your lips and accept the fact that the person is out of reach." Maurice backed away and walked back to where he slept. "I hope you understand that it doesn't always work the way you want it to."

Jack did not focus on what the other had to say anymore. All he knew was that Roger, the fragile boy he had _destroyed_ , could leave him forever anytime.

* * *

The redhead sat with his knees pressed to his chest in front of the lying raven-haired boy. He watched as the black eyes slowly opened and the long eyelashes moved just a little. The boy turned his head to Jack, tired eyes opening a little more.

"Look." Jack spoke up, trying to look as calm as possible. "I'm sorry, about what happened." He gazed at the ground, not wanting to look at Roger in the face.

"What happened?" The other questioned him, confusion was clear in his voice.

"What happened to Simon."

"Simon? Who is Simon?"

Jack paused, looking at Roger, completely bewildered. Then, it struck him.

 _Dissociative amnesia_. What happens when someone had experienced such a trauma that they have decided to just forget about it rather than deal with it. Jack had read about it in the library.

It was what the moment all memories just vanished called.

His eyes were fixated on Roger again.

"Maybe you should go to sleep."

"I'm about to die, aren't I?" Something akin to a small smile tugged at Roger's lips, and it just broke Jack into a million pieces.

"No, who told you that?"

"I heard it, when you and Maurice were talking. Something about my heart, he said."

"No. It's.. not like that."

Jack wanted to believe what he said, too.

Roger smiled again, faintly, the kind of smile that made Jack want to punch himself in the face a million times for the guilt he felt.

"Go to sleep."

"I can't. I just keep thinking." Roger turned his head again to face the sky. On the island, at night, there was always a lot of stars, faraway, glimmering objects that they could wish upon, but those wishes would never come true no matter how sincere the wisher was.

"You have to, or you'll be tired."

"Can you sing for me? Just a little. It's been a while since I last heard you singing."

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat. From his mouth came a soft and beautiful melody. Roger closed his eyes. The voice only lasted for a short while before it disappeared just as quickly.

The nights on the island since then passed just like that. Appearing for a short while, then vanished like the vague recalls of an unfamiliar boy in Roger's mind every time he heard a lizard making its sound.

Just vague recalls, and then they were gone.

_Evanesced._


	10. Debris

**_"Don't tell me the truth_ **

**_Tell me that it didn't happen_ **

**_There's been a mistake_ **

**_There's been a misunderstanding."_ **

* * *

"Hey," Jack jumped slightly at the sudden callout. He had been watching Roger since the other boy was told to go to sleep. His blue eyes moved to Roger's face only to see the opened black eyes that were unusually hazy. Sweat rolled down Roger's forehead, his black hair stuck to his skin, his breath was abnormally short and quick.

Jack put his hand on the other's forehead, the heat was unbearable.

"I can't sleep." Roger continued. His voice was smaller than it usually was, not that he was normally loud anyway.

The simple words had such a great impact on Jack that it took him a while to get his thoughts back to its coherent state again. He knitted his eyebrows together, his hand left Roger's forehead.

"You.." He started, his thoughts once again scattered all over the place. "Maybe want to go for a walk? Maybe that'll help."

Roger nodded, and Jack helped him up. He was oddly gentle, as if the boy he was touching was the most delicate being on the planet. Roger tripped and fell after a short while. Jack said nothing, not even a humiliation, what he did more than usually. He silently crouched and waited for Roger to wrap his arms around his neck, then wrapped his arms around Roger's legs and pulled them forward. Jack stood up, making sure that his companion was secured on his back before starting to walk again. The swelling, infected wound on the back of Roger's palm was in front of his face, the wound he himself created.

"This is a little selfish, but.." A small murmur, silent as the wind around them, echoed in Jack's ears, "can you carry me like this until I fall asleep?"

Jack's head went up and down slightly. He began to stroll along the beach, his mind wandering somewhere else off the island. What he was doing reminded him of what he had done some time ago; he could not remember exactly when, but it was something that happened recently. He was also carrying Roger like this, through the jungle, back to Castle Rock. The feeling of having something he treasured so much on his back and knowing it might disappear forever was unpleasant. It made him weak, and chiefs were not supposed to be weak. He resented those feelings. He resented the butterflies futtering in his stomach every time he saw that one that he cherished the most. He resented the way his blood boil under his skin when he got jealous. Maybe if he had not experienced those feelings, everything would not have ended up like this.

The short and quick breaths of the one on his back tickled his neck. Jack would laugh, normally he would, but he could not at that moment. He kept walking, his mind would drift off every now and then, until he found himself staring at the glittering sky. Never had he wanted the wishes people made upon stars to come true so much. That way, he could wish for everything to reset, and then he could redeem his mistakes.

Mistakes, he had made a lot of them.

"If you were to die tonight, what would you regret not having said the most?" Roger's whisper reverberated in Jack's ears. The boy's quick breaths were like a rhythm. Jack did not want to get accustomed to that repeated pattern. He did not want to accept the fact that the fragile boy on his back might be gone from his life any time.

Jack wanted to be blind, so that he could not see the black hair and eyes anymore. He wanted to be deaf, so that the small whispers and the breath would not reach him. He wanted to be mute, so that he did not have to answer that ever so unsettling question. He wanted to be numb, so that he could not feel the hair tickling his bare back, or the head gingerly lying on his shoulder.

He desperately wanted to be heartless, so that he would not feel these emotions that swept him to his knees.

"Why are you asking that?" Jack gazed at the stars again, silently wishing Roger was not addressing the fact that he might depart this life earlier than he expected.

"It just popped up, you know." The reply was no more than a quiet murmur. "It's a weird feeling, knowing you might die, and you will. And in that moment, thoughts just keep appearing in your head, like begging for your attention."

 _Please don't say stuff like that, you're scaring me_. Jack said in his head. His grip on Roger's legs were tighter, part to keep the boy secured, part because he really needed to hold on to something to keep going.

"The thoughts are not really that special. They're very random. Maybe they're about not being able to eat enough ice cream, or not being able to reach a high note, or not having the chance to try out those weird festival food, or not having the chance to confess something, or not having spoken enough, or–" Roger stopped midway, a warm drop of liquid rolled down his cheek and fell on Jack's shoulder. His body was shaking relentlessly on Jack's back.

It was one of those times when Jack really wished that he was emotionless.

"Don't say things like that. You're scaring me." Jack clenched his jaw, trying not to let the tears escape. The stars above were still illuminating the dark sky, as if the wishes they were supposed to grant would ever come true.

"Sorry."

The silence returned, along with the waves' noisy crashes into the shore and the sorrowful cries of the cicadas. Jack reached the platform, where they used to have assemblies, and where all of them first met. He ran his tongue across his dry lips, then bit them. He tried to look away from the shelters. Memories of a certain blond boy who would argue with him for an unknown amount of time about the fire flooded his mind. The awareness of the mistakes he had made rushed into him like the waves he was looking at. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

"I guess.." His mind was jumbled and his thoughts were a mess, but he forced himself to spit the words out. "If I were to die tonight, I would regret not telling you something important." Jack swallowed, the liquid was about to escape his eyes. "I would regret not telling you about my greatest fear. It's losing you. I'm afraid of losing you, to death, or to anyone. I want you to always be by my side. I hate it, the thought that I might lose you any minute. You're mine, but things–" He paused, pathetically attempting to put himself back together "–things are taking you away from me, and I can't do anything to stop them."

Jack had stopped walking. He stood in front of the old chief's seat, completely giving in to the continuously falling drops of water. He bowed his head, not wanting to look up.

He must have looked _pathetic_.

"I'll always be by your side." Roger said, his voice sounded like it was breaking. His fists clenched and unclenched. He grimaced, trying to conceal the pain coming from his left chest. He held on to Jack tighter, just like how the other was holding on to him. "I'm your right-hand man and second-in-command, remember? It's those people's jobs to always be with the chief, so I won't go anywhere, promise." The throbbing in his left chest felt like a brutal hand squeezing and punching the organ within.

Jack heard every word, but they only urged his tears to come out more. Roger had promised not to leave him. He promised, so he had to keep it.

_Right?_

The short and quick breaths stopped tickling Jack's neck. The small and pale hands completely unclenched. The chest touching his bare back was no longer rising and falling. Nothing more was said to him.

"Roger?" Jack shook the other's legs, trying to get some– any sign of life from the boy on his back.

_But he promised._

"Roger!"

_I won't go anywhere._

"Roger!"

_I'm your right-hand man and second-in-command, remember?_

"Roger!"

_Sorry._

"ROGER! Wake up!"

_If you were to die tonight, what would you regret not having said the most?_

"Roger, please."

_Can you carry me like this until I fall asleep?_

"Please."

_I can't sleep._

"You promised."

* * *

He with flame as hair sat down in front of the old chief of the island. His pale blue eyes were red and wet, and his shoulders were ferociously shaking. He tried to lift his head, but could not stand looking the former chief in the eyes. He chuckled silently to himself. The corners of his mouth lifted up just to fall down again. His face paint was smeared on his hair and his lips, and his neck. He stared at the ground, solemn, like a silhouette.

He finally looked up. There were drops of water running down from his eyes, he made small choking sounds, and his lips shook. He mouthed a song, but no sound came out from the space between his lips.

"Ralph," he let out a whisper, small enough for himself to hear, "I fucked up again, didn't I?"

 ** _End_**.


End file.
